Chapter 72: High praise

At the time when the Valentine’s Day event of “Jeon Jeon Seol” was in full swing,

Team Ascend’s practice room.

Victory was deliberately avoiding watching “Jeon Jeon Seol”’s stream.

To her, she was merely a rival who was so skilled that it made competing against her enjoyable.

She couldn’t afford to get any closer than that.

Victory wanted to keep playing against “Jeon Jeon Seol,” and “Jeon Jeon Seol” had warned her never to fall for her.

Building a shallow friendship for no reason would only be a disadvantage.

A relationship where they competed for the top spot in the same game—that was ideal.

That was what both Victory and “Jeon Jeon Seol” wanted, so Victory focused on her practice, deliberately avoiding her cooking streams.

Even if “Jeon Jeon Seol” looked unhealthy, or drank late at night and made lonely, drunken confessions, Victory couldn’t easily reach out.

Sometimes, it felt frustrating.

“Ah! No one won the draw!”

“The competition is over 1000 to 1. How could anyone win?”

“Winning that chocolate roulette is harder than becoming a pro.”

Yet, with all the other team members hooked on “Jeon Jeon Seol”’s stream, the practice room was constantly buzzing about it.

“Come on, Team Ascend should hand it out through viewer games, not a raffle!”

Of course, none of them won the draw. One of them even complained about the method.

“If skill had been involved, we would’ve won for sure!”

“Jeon Jeon Seol” didn’t explicitly brand herself as a Teamfight Arena streamer, but that was her most popular and frequent content.

Wouldn’t it make more sense to distribute prizes through gameplay instead?

“Should I try donating?”

Squid Oh Jin-woo, the youngest player after Victory, sent a donation before the others could stop him.

It should be fine, right?

He used a secondary account for viewing and didn’t reveal he was a pro.

Pros are human too!

“Hey, how could you drop 100,000 won just to ask for a game? Don’t you know how bad that is for a streamer?”

“Is it?”

“Do you ever think?”

“Wait, but how do you know so much about this?”

Jin-woo, much younger than the others, asked.

The team’s eldest, Choi Joo-an, couldn’t answer.

He couldn’t exactly say that before he became a pro, he was just an unemployed guy who played games and watched streams all day.

“Anyway, it’s not a good idea.”

There are many viewers, but only one streamer.

Joo-an had seen plenty of streamers crumble under the weight of contradictory advice from thousands of viewers, each thinking they were right.

He couldn’t explain everything, but…

“Expecting one person to handle so many different demands is cruel.”

“Jeon Jeon Seol” had 30,000 viewers.

Even a restaurant owner struggles to satisfy just ten people with different tastes.

Trying to satisfy 30,000 viewers at once?

That must be impossibly difficult.

Having competed in front of hundreds of thousands of eyes before, Joo-an suddenly found himself sympathizing with “Jeon Jeon Seol.”

A pro team is only expected to play well, but when they perform poorly, the level of criticism is nightmarish.

Somewhere along the way, he started wishing that “Jeon Jeon Seol” would endure and keep streaming for a long time.

After all, in the overwhelmingly male-dominated Challenger tier, where the gender ratio was estimated to be 299:1, wasn’t it nice to have a female streamer bringing some fresh energy?

He wasn’t getting sentimental or anything. Nope, definitely not.

“Then I’ll just donate 10,000 won instead.”

But Jin-woo completely misinterpreted the advice and sent a 10,000 won donation instead of 100,000 won.

“Please give me a chance to prove my skills.”

And “Jeon Jeon Seol” was someone who couldn’t resist when it came to serious gameplay.

“What kind of game do you want?”

“Dagger fight.”

“Follow me to Dragon’s Nest.”

Jin-woo’s request became a reality.

However, “Jeon Jeon Seol” clarified that since paying for an entry spot might create resentment among other viewers, participation would be first-come, first-served.

“She’s really thoughtful.”

Liking money is natural, and these days, the “money-obsessed” meme isn’t even considered a bad thing.

Being open about it is actually more endearing.

But people tend to lose interest in someone who only cares about money.

The way she instinctively avoided such a pitfall was proof that she was quite sharp.

Joo-an’s opinion of “Jeon Jeon Seol” rose slightly.

The first challenger was a Diamond 3 player.

They hadn’t even been given the password yet, but somehow, they managed to enter the room.

However, once the match started, they didn’t land a single hit on “Jeon Jeon Seol.”

The team members were impressed.

“Wow.”

“Jin-woo, can you do that?”

“Of course!”

“I think I’d need to be in good condition to pull it off.”

Team Ascend.

The undisputed strongest team in Teamfight Arena.

Not just in Korea, but globally.

Victory was the most popular, but a championship wasn’t won alone.

Her teammates were also incredibly skilled.

While most viewers would react to “Jeon Jeon Seol”’s performance with shock, awe, and reverence, the members of Team Ascend thought:

“Could I do that too?”

Instead of being overwhelmed, they felt competitive.

“I want to go up against her.”

The next challenger was a pro gamer.

X6’s Cherryot.

His team wasn’t considered a powerhouse, but his individual skill was highly regarded.

And even he was utterly demolished by “Jeon Jeon Seol.”

“Her distance control is insane.”

“She’s actually crazy.”

“Watch your words. You guys are picking up bad habits.”

The match was so impressive that the highest praise came naturally.

Against the Diamond player, they could only laugh.

“Jeon Jeon Seol” had effortlessly dodged every skill near maximum Q range, making it look trivial.

The Diamond player, failing to grasp that she was dodging on reaction, never even thought of closing the distance.

In the end, not a single hit landed.

And they must have thought—
“How is it even possible to dodge by just seeing it?”

But Cherryot was different.

He knew that attacks would never land at 100% range.

So he tried to close the distance.

He attempted to push Jeon Jeon-seol into the realm of mind games, where physical reactions alone wouldn’t suffice.

However, due to her strange movements and precise spacing, he only managed to land two hits before losing.

Meanwhile, Jeon Jeon-seol had hit him with a staggering eleven attacks, taking him down.

“I can do that too! Let me try! Let me try!”

“Maybe if you were a champion, but I’m not sure about you specifically.”

“I’ll show you! Ah! Everyone, move aside! I’ll prove it!”

Oh Jin-woo, who had been desperate to prove his skills, was now fired up.

But with so many viewers, just getting into the custom lobby after hearing the password was nearly impossible.

Wait—huh? That username in the lobby?

[ASC selen]

“Ju-an hyung! How did you get in?”

“Skill.”

“Trade with me! Trade with me! I’ll give you chocolate, just swap with me! I’ll win!”

“Are you trying to create a boosting controversy?”

Choi Ju-an was not known for having extraordinary reflexes compared to other top-tier professional gamers.

Maybe it was because he was born in ‘98—an “old” age in the esports scene.

In a gaming world dominated by teenagers and early twenty-somethings, being in the mid-20s was considered ancient.

But he still wanted to compete.

He wanted to keep proving himself.

Until the day he retired, he had to keep moving forward.

The match began.

Both sides had chosen the same champion: the Dagger Acrobat.

A game of perfect balance, with no advantages or disadvantages for either side.

“If she can dodge everything beyond half the range, I need to get in closer.”

If he had fought her right after the Diamond-ranked challenger got destroyed, he wouldn’t have known this.

But thanks to Cherryot breaking down Jeon Jeon-seol’s playstyle, he understood.

Her comfort zone was between 50% and 70% of her attack range.

A distance where most people couldn’t react in time—but she could.

Honestly, she was a monster.

The fact that she could react at a 100% success rate in that short range was terrifying.

And she had proven it.

The only two hits she took from Cherryot were because he had forcibly closed the gap and taken a desperate shot.

Outside the 50% range, she had dodged everything.

Dodge.

Dodge no matter what.

With extreme focus, Selen steadily closed in on Jeon Jeon-seol.

The dueling area in “Dagger Duel” was intentionally small, preventing endless running.

No matter how well she controlled the spacing, at some point, she would have to allow close-range combat.

So why had Cherryot failed after only landing two hits?

Because before he could even get close, he had already been shredded by daggers.

Choi Ju-an made it.

With intense concentration, he took only a single hit while closing the gap to less than 50% range.

Once inside that range, it was no longer about raw reflexes—it was a battle of the mind.

Choi Ju-an thought to himself—

This much.

At the very least, this much—

I can’t lose to a rookie.

No matter how much of a genius she is, no matter how much talent she has—

She can’t overcome the experience gap in mind games.

“…Wow.”

Final hit count: 11 to 5.

A crushing defeat.

Despite his near-flawless approach, taking only one hit while closing the gap, he was still hit 10 more times after that.

Ah.

He hadn’t just lost in reflexes—he had lost in mind games as well.

That’s what Choi Ju-an thought.

Until—

“Half of those were dodged on reaction.”

Victory Jeon Woo-seung, who had snuck up behind him, casually dropped that bombshell.

Even in what Ju-an had assumed was the realm of psychological warfare—

Jeon Jeon-seol had still been relying on raw reflexes.

“…That’s possible?”

Beyond the highest level of professionals—

A place where one had to question whether this was still within the realm of human capability.

Reflexes alone didn’t make someone a pro, just as being slightly slower didn’t mean someone couldn’t be one.

But having overwhelming reflexes was undeniably a massive advantage.

“If she can dodge 100% of attacks beyond half range, doesn’t that mean she can still react and dodge even closer?”

Ah, that’s right.

That’s what it meant.

“Your rival… she’s actually insane.”

And so are you.

Choi Ju-an thought to himself.

In the end, the only one who might be able to take down this lunatic… was Victory.

He wanted to see them fight.

Sure, they had clashed in ranked matches before—

But those had different characters, different teammates, and countless external factors.

But this?

A pure 1v1 fight.

Reflex against reflex.

He wanted to see it.

And he wasn’t the only one.